


don't you know too much already? / i'll only hurt you if you let me

by intertwiningwords



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Hatred, Suicide, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwiningwords/pseuds/intertwiningwords
Summary: barry is afraid of his future with sally, and decides to take matters into his own hands.





	don't you know too much already? / i'll only hurt you if you let me

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings for violence & suicide
> 
> title is from 'when they party's over' by billie eillish (two billie songs in a row as titles ayeee)
> 
> enjoy!! xo

Sally laid beside him, chest rising and falling gently as she slept. Barry sighed, willing sleep to come to him as well, but it quickly felt as though it were all for naught, memories of blood and brains haunting him every time he shut his eyes.

He could swear it off, stop it all and try to be normal, but he couldn’t change the past, couldn’t erase all the horrible things that he’d done. If Sally only knew, should hate him. She’d be disgusted, just like any normal,  _ sane _ person would. If she found out, or if she wanted to  _ tell _ …Could he do it? Really, could he kill her, if he had to?

He’d killed people that he knew before, some that he had maybe even loved...Chris, Janice...It was just a part of the job, another occupational hazard. But Sally was different in every way. He loved her in a way that he had never really felt before, despite the signs that perhaps he  _ shouldn’t _ (the many,  _ many  _ signs).

His eyes flickered to her sleeping face, pink lips and shut eyes and soft skin.

Just as a familiar sense of warmth and fondness settled in at the sight of her, he suddenly imagined pressing the barrel of a gun to her temple, his hands tight around her throat, stabbing a knife into her steadily breathing chest. Bloodstains in her blonde hair. The sound of her voice, begging: “Please, Barry. Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” The fear in her eyes, her hands shaking.

Bile rose in his throat, and he choked it back down, the acidic taste burning the whole way down. Sitting up, and jostling her slightly as he did so, he put his head in his hands.

He was no stranger to the flashing images of blood and gore, but when they were so starkly contrasted with Sally and the purity she emitted made his fucking stomach  _ churn _ .

“Barry?”

His head whipped around at the sound of her voice, still thick with sleep.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly.

She propped herself up on her elbows lazily. “S’okay...Did you have a bad dream?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Just a nightmare.”

Sally gave him a sleepy, fond look. “Aw, come here,” she said, laying back and holding out her arms.

Feeling guilty, yet still desperate for her affection, he laid back and allowed her to wrap her arms around his bare shoulders, burying her face in his neck, such a soft gesture it made his stomach do a flip.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she mumbled.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay. You know you can tell me, if you want though, right?”

_ ‘No, I can’t,’ _ he thought.

However, he replied simply. “I know.”

She sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep then? It’s just that I have an audition tomorrow, and—”

“No, no, go back to sleep, I understand,” he reassured her. “You need your rest.”

He began to stroke her hair, hearing her pleased hum, and then suddenly, imagining tugging it harshly from behind, pressing a blade to her throat and slashing it open, bright red blood dripping down her body, staining her pajamas.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake those horrible thoughts and feelings.

Sally had already fallen back to sleep, blissfully unaware that the arms wrapped around her had murdered somewhere in the ballpark of a hundred (probably even more) people. Even the night that they had first slept together, he had strangled a man to death probably less than thirty minutes prior. God, he was fucking  _ sick _ .

She would think so too, and he was sure of that. Her morals were fierce, and opinions strong, rarely changing.

She had already married one violent man (who Barry actually wouldn’t mind killing, of course, if he wasn’t already off-duty-hopefully-forever). But he was different. He would never,  _ ever _ hurt her, never—

_ ‘Unless you had to,’ _ a wicked little voice in his head taunted, and the scariest part was, he didn’t know if it was right or not.

Maybe he really  _ wasn’t _ any different than her ex-husband, or Hank or anyone else who had ever pulled the trigger on another. The people that he killed may have been bad (but probably not  _ all _ of them; Ryan wasn’t bad, and neither was Janice) but he still hurt their friends, their families, and everyone that they knew and loved. He killed, and hurt, and ruined, and he  _ destroyed  _ every fucking thing that he touched.

Sally didn’t deserve that. No one deserved the horror that he felt like, that he  _ was _ .

Carefully, he dislodged himself from Sally’s arms, careful not to wake her this time as he rose to his feet.

He didn’t deserve her, or any of their friends. Not Natalie, or Jermaine, or Gene. No one in that acting class, not even Fuches, as fucked up as he was too. He didn’t deserve anything. Not even his own goddamn life.

He could never hurt Sally physically, no, but hurting her like this felt somehow more like saving her. Saving her from him, from finding out the truth, from what he might have to do if she did. With him out of the picture, she was safe. Everyone was safe.

And besides, it was already too late to save himself.

For someone so equipped with weapons, he chose a much more subtle, silent way to go, one that Sally wouldn’t even bat an eye at in the morning, assuming him to still be asleep. It wouldn’t be until she tried to wake him for a good-luck kiss, or maybe even until after her audition if she felt particularly rushed that morning, that she’d notice.

And within a few months, maybe a year, she’d find someone better. She could do so much fucking better. And she deserved it, too.

He just couldn’t be the one to give it to her, and he couldn’t deal with that on top of all the other aches and pains and traumas life presented him with on the fucking daily. He couldn’t take any more hurt, whether he caused it or felt it or both.

He got back into bed, his mouth dry and head a little woozy, laying back beside the beautiful blonde actress that had stolen his heart from the moment she screamed at him in the stairwell of that acting class, that goddamn fucking acting class that started it all, and he shut his eyes tight, this time, sure the sleep would come quickly, nightmare-less and permanent.

And he was sure that it was for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! kudos/comments are very much appreciated, it makes my day!!


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